


Spun Sugar

by SerpentineJ



Category: Galavant (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:26:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galavant is a newspaper food critic. Richard owns a desert shoppe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spun Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grigiocuore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/gifts).



> NOTE: OH GOD I’m SUPER SORRY GRIG this IS SO LATE  
> Prompt: “Should I be worried about how much caffeine you’re consuming?”

The day is cool, cloudy London skies casting a monochrome pallor on the rain-drenched city below, air crisp and light with the promise of spring. A tall, brunet man strides into the newspaper office, 

“Good morning, sire.” Sid jokes and mock-bows. Isabella chuckles and lobs a balled-up piece of tape at his head.

“Hey, Sid,” Galavant calls over his shoulder, dropping his messenger bag on his desk and opening his laptop, “where am I reviewing today?”

The other shakes his head. “Not entirely sure, sir, there’s a few on the list. Pick one you like.”

He pulls up the sheet, scanning the names there; a new Italian place, interesting, something German and another Austrian café…

One line catches his eye.

King Richard’s Dessert Shoppe.

Is it too early for a slice of cake?

Never, he decides, and saves the address into his phone, pocketing it and setting his computer aside.

~~~~~~

The scent of almonds and lemon, expresso and sugar envelopes his senses the instant he opens the door, the gentle, cheery jingle of the bell sounding through the half-empty shop. It’s not busy; there are a few people sitting at the small tables in the corner, one with a laptop, and a couple is chatting quietly on a plush couch against the wall.  
The atmosphere is peaceful and homely, and Galavant mentally marks it up a few points. He likes it here already.

“Welcome to King Richard’s, how can I help you?” The barista turns around, and Galavant raises his eyebrows; he’s probably six feet tall, bald, with a scarred face that would be more fitting of a stereotypical gangster, pierced ears and a scowl; his tough-guy demeanor, however, is juxtaposed by the white apron over his black dress shirt and the delicately iced cupcakes he’s setting on the tiered porcelain display.

He studies the menu. “Er…” Galavant hesitates. “A… mocha and a red velvet cupcake, please?”

“Name?”

“Galavant.”

The man (his nametag reads “Gareth”) retrieves the requested pastry from the display case and flicks a switch on the expresso machine, a gentle whir filling the room and the deliciously invigorating scent of caffeine permeating the warm air. Galavant swipes his company credit card (ah, the perks of being a food critic) and takes his coffee when it is handed to him, thanking the barista and finding a small table along the side wall.

He takes a sip from the steaming coffeeand his eyes widen; it’s quite good, better than a Starbucks for sure, and well worth the price. 

Then he bites into the cupcake.

If Galavant were a poetic man, he would say that stars exploded behind his eyelids; he would wax on about the delicately moist, perfectly crumbly cake, or the beautifully creamy frosting, lightly sweet, but not enough to clog the senses, and practically melting like sugar-candy on the tongue.

But he’s not.

He lets out a small groan, taking another sample of the iced treat.

King Richard, indeed.

~~~~~~

Galavant finishes his coffee in a markedly more cheerful mood, the warm atmosphere of the café comforting, feeling familiar despite the fact that he had first stepped foot in the shop twenty minutes ago, and pulls out his laptop, opening a new Word document.

“King Richard’s Dessert Shoppe.” He titles the page, bold, black typeset striking against the bright white screen. 

~~~~~~

The bell above the door jingles as the brunet man walks out, into the London streets, slightly more cheerful than when he came in, and Richard finally pokes his head out from the door to the kitchens.

“Is he gone?” He asks, ridiculously shy, even for him, and Gareth rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s gone.” The barista grunts, marking down a few items on the inventory list before turning fully to his business partner. “Really, Richard, you need to stop hiding whenever someone you think is attractive stops in.”

Richard Kingson, owner of the shoppe and head baker, blushes and comes out of the kitchen, folding his arms. 

“I don’t do it all the time, Gareth. Honestly.”

Gareth Gard, his best friend and head barista, laughs, dusting his hands of powdered sugar on his red apron. 

“You don’t?” He asks. “You mean, you didn’t look out, squeak, and retreat back to the kitchen, and refuse to come out until I told you he was gone?”

Kingson huffs, glaring halfheartedly at the other until he breaks and sighs.

“He was very handsome, though.” He murmurs quietly.

Gareth rolls his eyes (again- he does that a lot when he’s with Richard) and turns to address the customer who walks in the door.

~~~~~~

“King Richard’s Dessert Shoppe.” Gard reads aloud. The shop is closed and Gareth had been about to leave, shrugging on his leather jacket and grabbing his motorcycle helmet from the office in the back, when a ping sounded on his phone- a ping that meant they had gotten some press. “Richard, come here.”

Kingson pokes his head in the office, flour in his hair and on his face, taking off his sullied apron (smeared with what looks like lavender icing today). “What is it, Gare?”

“We got a news article.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Look, from that guy you were hiding from. With the stubble.”

“He’s a food critic?” Richard wonders under his breath, walking over to peer over Gareth’s shoulder at the phone. “Huh. What’d he say?” He squints at his friend’s phone, frowning in concentration before shaking his head. “Gareth, your font’s too small.”

Gareth casts him a glance. “No, your eyesight is terrible.”

The other man sighs and dug in his pocket, retrieving a set of frameless glasses and slotting them on his face- his vision instantly sharpens.

“…wow.” He blushes, bright blue eyes scanning the text. “He was… very complimentary.”

~~~~~~

The bell above the door tinkles.

It’s just as warm as the first few times, Galavant thinks, as he strides up to the counter. Gareth isn’t here today, which is odd- he’s typically standing vigilantly behind the marble bar.

“Hello?” He calls out, shifting to peer into the kitchens. “Are you guys open?”

A voice, seemingly agitated, sounds from inside. “Yes, yes, just a moment!”

The man who rushes out is covered head-to-toe in flour, up to his glasses- it’s dusted on his arms and face, powdering his silver-streaked hair and his cheeks. He looks harried, but freezes when he looks directly at Gal, and Galavant has three thought in very, very quick succession.

_Oh, fuck, he’s cute._

_How are his eyes so blue?_

_I have a pencil behind my ear._

“O-oh!” The mysterious man starts, blinking at him. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess… what can I get you?”

Galavant shakes himself (and really, Gal, he thinks, get a grip, this isn’t the first time you’ve been confronted by a cute guy) and smiles, and that seems to put- Kingson, his nametag says- at ease a little. 

“Ah, no problem.” He says. “Er… one red velvet cupcake and one medium latte, please?”

“Absolutely.” Kingson scribbles it down and presses some buttons on the coffeemaker and sets the requested cupcake on a plate. 

“Do you know where Gareth is?” Gal asks, cocking his head. “He usually mans the counter, right?”

The other man nods, pausing. “Oh, he’s on sick leave. Nasty flu.” 

“Do you usually work here?”

Kingson blushes. It’s rather cute, Galavant thinks before he can stop himself. “I usually stay in the back- my name’s Richard.”

“As in, Richard the owner?” 

He nods.

Gal grins. “I love the cupcakes.”

~~~~~~

“Should I be worried about how much caffeine you’re consuming?” Richard asks, sliding the latest cup (cinnamon, dark roast) over the counter. He’d made a point of coming out to the counter more, and though he’ll sulk at Gareth if he mentions it, his friend knows it’s because of the handsome food critic with the leather jacket. 

Galavant smiles and leans over the counter, moving slightly closer. “Writing’s a tiring job.”

Kingson rolls his eyes. He’s sarcastic and witty while somehow still innocent, Gal has found, and it’s simultaneously adorable and fascinating, and for some reason it’s only added to the enigma that is Richard Kingson.

It’s not until he’s back at the office, having had to cut this visit to the shoppe short, that he finds the number scrawled on the inside lid of the box Richard had stored his red velvet cupcake in.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: augh i'm sorry this is SO LATE ;-;  
> I’m on Tumblr!


End file.
